


Waterloo, Bitches.

by Mountainashtree



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Agender Garak, Anal Sex, Banter, Cloaca, Cloacal Sex, Cunnilingus, Dukat gets dragged kind of, Games, Gentle Sex, Growling, Love/Hate, M/M, Masturbation, Other, Prompted Writing, Quarks Bar, Rough Sex, Vaginal Sex, Writing Trade, but kinda?, crack probably, handjobs, its consentual, kind of, not really hate sex?, not sure., sorry - Freeform, they have a Thing i guess, this is the first fic ive ever written im so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 11:00:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15411441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mountainashtree/pseuds/Mountainashtree
Summary: For Cardassians, the line between love and hate is particularly thin-- It takes a lot of effort to spend that kind of emotional energy. Garak and Dukat have been riding that line a little too closely for a long time now, and the uncertainty only serves to titillate.





	Waterloo, Bitches.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CastellanGarak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CastellanGarak/gifts).



> Prompts: (i would like garakat first kiss, but they've fucked before plenty, but dukat thought it was just a casual enemies with benefits arrangement with no feelings, until garak SMOOCHES him with feeling & he's like dkjf;asdjfldsakf gross sobbing wild flailing)
> 
> Again, i've never written fanfc before in my life so if the plot is bonkers don't sue me. jajfjafs\l
> 
> its all very ooc.
> 
> (Edit: Ive been worried a bit of this came off as transphobic but to be clear its meant to be /dukat/ being the asshole he is and then garak having slightly better but still way warped thoughts on the subject and not representative of my thoughts overall??? idk i was drinking at the time too? thats my excuse for inadequate communication of that i guess :\\)
> 
> Trade Gift for @CastellanGarak, the head honcho of the garakat tag, and my beta.

Quark's is bustling this time of evening, and Dukat would usually know better than to patronize the establishment while it was so jam packed full of hot blooded mammals, the majority of which likely to harbour a particular distaste for him. The crowd’s overwhelming noise niggles at his ears; nothing a stiff drink won't fix.

He's looking for someone.

And spots them.

Garak is nestled up to the bar, nursing a glass half full of Kanar. A half empty bottle rests on the counter beside him. Dukat approaches and leans against the bar in such a way that should Garak look up all he’ll  _ see _ is Dukat, all he’ll  _ smell  _ is Dukat. How else will such a  _ stubborn _ man pay attention to the  _ important _ things

Dukat attempts a smouldering look. He smirks and takes a piece of Garak’s hair into his hands, running it through his fingers. “You’ve… attempted to dress yourself up. Self-conscious, knowing I was coming, hmm?” Dukat leans in to breathe in Garak’s scent. “Or have certain latent desires come peeping out along with a  _ scandalous _ amount of your neck?

Dukats mouth crooks up, somehow, even more, and the lecherousness of his expression is comically magnified. There is a cruel edge to his humor, though.

“My, my Garak... what  _ will _ we do with you?”

Garak scoffs; Dukat is rather much on the best of days, but with recent events he may just be too much, even for Garak. “Not everyone  _ revels  _ in their own filth, Dukat… whilst also  _ constantly _ preening, somehow?  _ That  _ there really is the real mystery, isn’t it...?”

Garak looks Dukat up and down.

“-and,  _ might I add _ , your  _ work _ outfits have been known to rival those of a Dabo girl’s”

It’s true. Cardassian uniforms come with insulating neck covers, Dukat simply chooses to wear the summer attire, showing off his abnormally long ridges rather than preventing hypothermia or a myriad of other cold related afflictions. He's a semi-reptile for union’s sake! Why does he do these things? There’s not a single being that comes close to resembling a cardassian woman for  _ light years, _ to impress; with the exception of Garak, of course.

Dukat appears to be lost in thought, no doubt taking his time coming up with a witty retort. Dukat has a glassy look to his eyes.

“Hmm.”

_ Oh, I suppose he isn’t. _

“Dukat.”

Dukats parts his dry lips and licks them moist again. His eyes shift from side to side, away from Garak and back again. “That last one, it was quite the feat. I’d normally take the opportunity to take a good few gouges, but,”

Dukat swallows and takes a step back from Garak. “-well, we can’t have you getting  _ despondent _ , can we? I wouldn’t want our little  _ games _ to… wither with your ego.”

Garak is used to this sort of jab. Not so much in public, but he still gets it. It stings nonetheless. Perhaps Dukat needs his ego kept a tad more in check, experience a little sting of his own. 

Garak’s never quite sure what Dukat’s worried about. There’s no way his crew isn’t already aware of their arrangement. Besides, this flirting is  _ delicious _ . It's worth it.

_ “Please _ , Dukat, you haven’t had the upper hand since  _ long _ before the Rugal incident.”

“I beg to differ.”

“ _ Of course _ you do.”

“Naturally.”

Garak squints at Dukat, “ah.”

Dukat straightens and shifts his weight to his other knee. He smoothly maneuvers his body, twisting his gawky limbs gracefully, somehow, onto the barstool next to Garak.

Dukat looks past Garak’s head, oddly nervous. “Are you aware of the set of higher end quarters near Ore-Processing? Unoccupied since, well, occupation; The Occupation. They’re painted the strangest red.”

“You’d be surprised at the things I know about.”

Dukat looks relieved, but the tension he's displaying does not abate. “Perhaps…”

Garak moves to pour himself another glass of kanar. Quark has been surreptitiously watching their interaction, Garak knows. He's not quite so subtle as he thinks he is, but he means no undue, or rather, unpredictable, harm. Quark attempts to be casual as he wanders to their end of the bar.

“Dukat, if you're not going to buy the lady a drink would you take your weird Cardassian non-relationship somewhere other than my bar?” Quark laughs nervously. Dukat straightens and narrows his eyes. Garak covertly crosses his legs, in reaction to Dukat’s suddenly formidable presence.

Quark raises up his hands in an appeasing, submissive, gesture. “-you see Garak here scares away enough customers,  _ and he didn’t oversee the occupation. _ He also drinks like a Madgordian Bilgesnipe on second Sunday; -haha- gets rid of my Kanar stock, him and the doctor, that is.”

Dukat relaxes, but it appears calculated. His voice is hard, subtext clear. He's more than willing to cause Quark  _ misfortune _ in his search for privacy.

“Three Cardassian sunrises.”

Garak is appalled. Is he doing this simply to rile Garak up? More than likely. 

How unfortunate that when it comes to Dukat and himself _ all _ tension becomes sexual. He’d like to be genuinely disgusted with Dukat for once, without undermining himself in the process.

Regardless, only tourists and  _ trash _ lower themselves to the level of a  _ Cardassian sunrise _ . Dukat could be considered both, he supposes. That still excuses so little. As much as Julian would consider them  _ “girly drinks,” _ but “ _ actually for anyone" _ whatever that’s supposed to imply, no real cardassian  _ lady _ would touch the sweet, nauseatingly bright, stuff.

Do human women have higher alcohol tolerances? What puts drinks into that “girly” category. He should ask Julian to clarify… later. Julian had said it was a somewhat impolite turn of phrase, an old holdover.

Garak nearly gags.

“Eulch, not that swill!”

“Cut it! they’re for me.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re needy when you're drunk” Dukat mutters.

Hes irritated and in a foul mood. Minutes ago he seemed ready to bend Garak over the bar,  _ claim _ him,  _ mark _ him,  _ punish _ him for  _ daring _ to challenge his ego. Now, he seems as if he's ready to up and leave.

_ Quark, I'll kill you if you’ve ruined this, it took me months to plan _ .

Dukat looks Garak up and down, perking up a little. He eyes flit over to the bottle on the counter.

“… and an expensive drunk. It’s not worth the latinum.”

Garak puffs up, exaggerating his offence, hoping Dukat will  _ take him to task. _

“You’re sloppy.”  _ when drunk _ is implied, but also in his moves in their games.

“Mmm, but attractive.”

An underwhelming reaction, simple, but true. There’s something to be said for the classic, childish, but irrefutable retorts.

Garak eyes Dukats features, in turn, huffing. “The neck doesn’t make the whole of the man, Dukat.”

Dukat chuckles. Quark shuffles over and sets Dukats three layered, sweet, and potent drinks down. Not the most… imposing drinks, but Dukat can afford the knock to his image, what with... everything else he has  _ going on _ . Dukat takes a sip of one, and smiles off into the distance, he shakes his head, turning the look towards Garak. Garak’s belly tingles with something other than the Kanar.

“Of course, and beauty isn’t based solely on the girth of a lady’s hips,” Dukats eyes flick down to where Garak’s posterior rests on his own barstool. “- yet here we are.”

“You have a penchant for referring to me as if I were a woman”

“ _ You _ have a penchant for luring in  _ lonely, unsuspecting _ , Glinns and Guls with a flash of blue and a robust figure in the shadows of this cold little station. I'd venture to guess it didn't start here, either.”

“Hardly my fault.”

“You could try leaving the paint at home”

“I have my days”

“Are your eyes not blue enough?”

“Don’t try to flip this around into something charming, Dukat.”

Garak notes how Dukat leans in, despite the harsh tone, and inappropriate comments regarding to his gender expression. Dukat may be rude and cruel about a good many things, but that subject is not one. It serves him little to push those of less than ordinary proclivity into hiding, for he has a taste for them. Cardassia doesn’t much care, so long as the pretense is upheld, and one’s jobs are being done. Dukat may subscribe to that, but his tastes run wilder, still. At the very least, Dukat couldn’t stand a world where he was limited to either men or women.

Garak’s lips twitch against his glass, before he tips it back. He gives Dukat a sidelong glance as he refills the thing. The Kanar bottle clinks as he sets it down. “I know you like it, anyways. You could never settle for one or the other.”

Garak can’t help but let out a light giggle, the bubbly feeling of tipsiness in his head momentarily overtaking him, for those few seconds. “Both wouldn’t be enough, I’d venture to guess”

“Perhaps you're right”

Garak’s eyes widen in mock surprise, “oh! Look! that wasn’t so hard was it?” he leans towards Dukat, smiling and teasingly stretching his head to the side, neck ridges hit by the dim bar lighting, glowing, sensuous. His tunic slips a little further down his shoulders.

Dukat’s eyes narrow, and a resonous sound emanates from his chest. He’s growling. “ _ Garak- _ ”

Dukats breath hitches as Garak places a hand on his wrist

“-I don’t have time for this.”

Dukat seems bothered. 

Watching him tip back one sunrise, Garak raises a brow-ridge.

On the second, Garak has both raised. Dukat pauses a moment,

He stands and walks down the bar counter shakily,

Garak scoffs “lightweight” just loud enough for the larger cardassian to hear, just enough to cause him to stutter, as he walks past Morn, and up to Quark. It's not fair, his emotional state is contributing to his off kilter gait. Quark and Dukat exchange a few quick words, and Dukat gives Garak a glance. Some latinum exchanges hands. Presumably for the Cardassian sunrises Dukat quaffed back a few moments previous.

Seeing Dukat meander out of the bar, Garak figures it’s time to go. He’d already gotten the signal.

“Quark?”

“What?”

“Tab!”

“Covered!”

“Idiot.”  _ But an idiot that knows how to get your undercarriage all up in a tizzy;” _

_ “-maybe you’re the idiot, Garak. _

__ \---☆---☆---☆--- _ _

_  
_

Garak enters his quarters, nearly tripping over his own feet. Dukat never quite has enough time for these things, so he claims, and tonight Garak expects he's apt to be particularly passionate. Garak had absolutely  _ crushed _ Dukats plans involving station management, some illicit goods, the Vedek assembly, and, surprisingly, eight hundred kilograms of raw Yamok.

Garak unclasps his tunic with shaking hands. After Dukat’s gone he's never quite sure whether their exchange was pleasurable or not, but leading up to each one, he can’t imagine denying the aching, itching, in his groin, and if he's honest, in his chest, his heart. He has to make the most of the time they afford one another. The pretense often kills him, but the banter has him soaking his undergarments; he suspects Dukat can smell the slick on him when it happens.

Absconding with his trousers, Garak is left in said undergarments. He fingers at the elastic waistband, gently tugging the dusty blue lace away from his scales, careful not to tear the fabric or the raised, catchy, bits on his grey skin. Slipping his fingers down, the waistband slides over his wrist. He drags his index through the moisture slathered and slopped in his crease, spilling over to coat wherever else his panties touch. He pushes a finger out alongside his thigh, feeling the tackiness of his own drying lubricant.

Moving back upwards his finger drags across the length of his slit, imagining how Dukats tongue had felt, nearly a year ago. A sudden jolt hits him at the thought, and the gasp he lets out alerts him to the fact he's been holding his breath. He shakily breathes out, and presses his finger to his entrance, widening his stance as he stands there, before popping it past the ring, slick from arousal, but tight from disuse. It’s been a long while since Dukat last had the opportunity to offer Garak a challenge, or a reward; a play at a rough, hard, breeding for Garak should he sufficiently prove his genes worth, his worth as a mate, despite their apparent animosity towards one another. It's another game they play. Play with each other’s egos, play with each other’s emotions.

_ Stop it Garak. _

_ You’ll get yourself all worked up… and not only will it be over, and unsatisfying, Dukat will lord it over you for  _ years.

_ Pull yourself together. _

Garak runs his unoccupied hand through his head feathers, to smooth them. They had risen up along with the tension he was feeling.

_ When will he get here? He’ll probably hold things up just to agitate me… or, if he mentions it, to make it look like his performance is dictated by his schedule and not his skill or endurance. Fortunately, or unfortunately neither of us would believe I meant it, should I choose to voice that particular quip. _

Garak sighs. The tip of his cock was pressed against his fingertip, now, aching to come out. That would be unacceptable. Dukat will have to coax it out, himself.

He removes his hand and drags it across his belly to get off the worst of the residue. He tilts his head forward and takes a deep breath. Stepping forward to crawl up onto his bed, he shuffles forward and flips himself over onto his hindquarters. He does his best to artfully arrange himself, sprawled out over the length of the bed, legs parted just so, in the perfect position to make eye contact with whomever should deign to walk through the doors of his bedroom.

Garak shuffles restlessly.

And waits,

...And waits.

Garak is irritated. Hes hurt, lonely, and disheartened.

He’s about to get up to put his clothes back on, perhaps shower, wash away his shame, when-

A rapping on the door.

Garak splutters- “computer! Let them in! Open door!”

_ Beep-beep _

a shadow stretches from where the figure stand, backlit by the hallway lights. Garak’s quarters are barely lit, with only enough light to find one's way to the bedroom, were one's eyes not adapted to the dark in the same way a Cardassian’s were.

_ “Garak” _

Dukat strides in. he takes a look around the room and scoffs. “So much for professional designer”

_ He doesn’t mean it. _

_ He can’t, it’s flirting; this is what rivals come lovers  _ do _ , Garak; Rip each other apart. No need to take it so personally. _

Dukat’s boots stop clicking when he reaches the foot of Garak’s bed and pauses. He's already begun to remove his armour as efficiently as possible, wasting no time. Unclasping and unbuckling, he slides off his plating. Garak is sad to see it go, but it  _ is _ rather cumbersome to deal with; who knows why the military chose the design. It was most likely for intimidation purposes.

Garak is intimidated, certainly, but not due to Dukat’s armour. Garak shuffles upwards to get a better angle of Dukat’s form.

Finally lifting his head to take in his surroundings for the first time since he began to strip, focused on the task, he comes to notice Garak there, on the bed, all dolled up. As surprised as he is he only lets it show for a moment, mouth pursed, as he takes in Garak, all laid out for him.

He hops across Garak’s floor a few times as he tugs off his boots, tossing them aside, never taking his eyes off of Garak. The sight is nearly too much. He shimmies off his pants and tugs his undershirt over his head, giving no thought to the peek of tight, unguarded, abdominal skin hes affording Garak as he does so. He crawls up the bed, panting lightly, and positions himself over Garak’s exposed body.

Dragging air over his tongue, he takes in Garak’s scent with a desperate sound. His pupils are blown wide, and he can smell Garak’s scent get stronger as his chest begins to rumble. Garak had done well to unravel his plans as he had. Dukat had been  _ humiliated _ .

Dukat wants to give him the same, and more.

By the end of the night Garak will no longer feel the odds are in his favour; Dukat will hold the chips-

-and Garak, by the cock.

Dukat growls, reaching to place a hand on Garak’s hip. He points a finger and feels the lace catch on his nail as he scrapes it down the scales of Garak’s love handle. He leans forward to breathe hot puffs of air on Garak’s neck, scant inches away from touching them.

“For me, are they?”

Garak shivers.

“For myself, actually.”

Dukat chuckles, and pulls upwards, now resting on his knees, looking down at Garak’s rather awkward positioning. He smooths his hands up, over Garak’s thighs, rubbing at his knees with his thumbs. Garak’s leg involuntarily twitches to the side. His slit is near numb with a sort of tingling anticipation. Dukat firmly grasps Garak, now, and heaves him down the bed. Garak gasps, his already heavy breathing speeding up. He can barely take his eyes off of Dukat’s. He doesn’t think he could form words if he wanted to.

Garak’s hair is splayed out above him, his ridges are near black, and his body is as flushed as it’s ever been. Dukat has his legs spread wide on to either side of his own waist, hiked higher than Garak could comfortably stretch them on his own. Their groins are flush, and Garak can feel the slide of well lubricated silk against his cloaca’s entrance. Dukat isn’t yet everted, but the ridges lining his own slit are hot, and his chuva bumps the bottom of Garak’s belly. Garak can’t help but  _ whine _ .

Dukat ruts up against him, once, twice, thrice again, faster. His grip on Garak does not abate; if anything, it gets stronger. Garak can’t help but feel a jolt of arousal at Dukat’s complete and utter ability to manhandle him as he wishes. Garak could get away, yes, but not without hurting them both. He doesn’t  _ want _ to get away. His hips are pinned there so  _ well _ . Such a virile mate, keeping  _ him  _ there. He  _ must _ be desirable; Dukat may sew a good few wild oats, but the time, energy, and expense spent on their games is far too high a price for something he could get just anywhere.

Dukat grunts, and he speeds up, rolls his hips just a bit more firmly. Garak can feel the tip of Dukat’s spear edging out of him, against his swollen purses lips. Dukat removes a hand from Garak and moves it to cup over the head of his cock. He rubs in a circular fashion, and gasps and huffs as a couple of inches spring out of his pouch. It still has quite a ways to go, but Dukat moves his fingers to circle Garak’s entrance. He pops a finger an inch or two into Garak, rotating his wrist in such a way as to tug and stretch Garak’s entrance. Garak squirms. The itching is too much. It’s all the way down the insides of his thighs. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. There’s nowhere to escape to, and no relief to be found. Dukat crooks his finger to nudge at the underside of Garak’s cock. Garak keens and attempts to kick, only to be stopped by Dukat’s hold.

“ _ Relax _ , Garak.”

Garak lifts his head and lets it fall back to the bed, trying to reign himself in, steady his breathing. Hes nearly hyperventilating. Relaxing his core, he blooms for Dukat. His is not the longest or thickest, but Dukat seems to like it well enough. Dukat hums and wraps his hand around it, giving it a gentle, claiming, squeeze. It’s a reaffirmation more than an attempt to stimulate.

Dukat lets go of Garak’s hips once again, this time in order to hook a finger under the lace band on each side of them. He tugs them up Garak’s legs and wrangles them off of one ankle. He leaves them hanging on the other, heavy and damp.

Dukat presses his front across Garak’s belly, leaning down to sink his teeth into a neck ridge. He exhales, his chest rumbles, and he hooks his arms under Garak’s legs. Folding Garak as far as he can comfortably go, he manages to get close enough to grab one of Garak’s wrists, and pins it there. Garak is a lost cause. He can’t stop himself from giving out little whines, huffs, squeaks.

Dukat drags the exposed tip of his cock along Garak’s rear, attempting to line up with Garak’s dripping purse.

Finding purchase, he pushes in. The tapered tip slides in easily, and as Dukat pushes in the second time, pulling out so that only the tip remained inside, another inch slips out of Dukat’s purse. Each time Dukat fucks in Garak feels just a touch fuller, the revealed portion of Dukat’s cock noticeably longer, and noticeably thicker. By the tenth or twelfth slow thrust, Garak is babbling. Something about “more” or “please” or some other relatively nondescript combination of pitiful phrases. He's not here to be original, he's here to get fucked so well he can’t remember what he said.

Dukat hums into Garak’s neck ridge, and Garak squeaks. He tenses up, instinctively bears his neck to Dukat, as Dukat speeds up. Dukat’s pounding into him, now. The mattress is making a god awful noise, and Garak is dizzy from the speed at which the ceiling appears to be vibrating, as Dukat thrusts, in, out, in, out, shaking him, threatening to ram him up into the headboard, should the arm still wrapped around one of his thighs fail to keep him stationary.

Dukat slips in his hold for a second, letting go of Garak’s neck with his teeth, halting his thrusts, and tugging Garak down the bed yet again. Garak is a mite less comfortable like this; his neck is at a bit of an odd angle, but he’ll manage. Dukat gets his better grip on Garak, and rams back in.

_ That’s a… much better angl- _

_ -Oh. _

Garak manages to free one of his hands and grab the back of Dukat’s neck. He smashes their lips together, teeth clinking. It’s a horrible, sloppy, kiss but Garak can’t care about that, right now. Garak attempts to let out all his nervous energy in the kiss. Dukat  _ has to know _ what he does to Garak.

Dukat’s hips stutter as Garak tugs him down to take liberties with his face, and he's startled into bumping into Garak in an odd way.

Dukat can feel the first pulse around him, Garak’s aborted little gasp into his mouth, and Garak’s other arm flying up to hold Dukat’s lips against his own when Dukat releases his grip on Garak’s other wrist.

Garak’s tongue is in his mouth, his legs are flexing around Dukat’s waist, and Garak’s purse is doing it’s best to milk Dukat’s still-hard cock. Garak seems to need this kiss more than air, he’s showing no signs of stopping, and is displaying a fervor close to panic. He truly  _ needs _ it.

Dukat grips Garak’s jaw and pulls the desperate man’s face away from his own. Garak doesn’t seem to want to let go of Dukat’s head, but his head follows where Dukat leads it.

“Garak…what was that?”

“What was… what?

“People kiss during sex, Dukat.”

“I thought this was strictly an ‘enemies with benefits’ sort of thing, Garak. I wasn’t expecting you to up and chew my face off”

Garak feels numb. Of course this is how it is. He knew that, knew that wouldn't change. Garak is just a sentimental fool, alone, and lonely. A frigid station with frigid people makes a man susceptible to charms he otherwise wouldn’t be.

_ Why are you always like this, Garak? _

“Ah, of course” Garak looks past Dukat’s shoulder, at the dark ceiling. “I simply wasn’t aware kissing was off the table.”

Dukat’s face is uncharacteristically stony. “You’ve never done it to date. Not once.”

“I never felt like it,”

_ Stop avoiding eye contact, Garak; I get it’s uncomfortable, but you look suspicious. _

Dukat looks skywards, and sighs.

“But you do, now?”

“Obviously, you dolt.”

“Ah.”

Dukat takes a moment to study Garak’s face one more time, and chuckles to himself.

Garak’s eyes narrow.  _ “What?” _

“Nothing.”

Dukat leans down, bracing his forearms, one on each side of Garak’s torso. He brings his face down so that they are nose to nose, chufa to chufa, and tilts his head slightly to the side. 

He places a gentle peck on Garak’s lips, feeling Garak hold his breath as he does so.

Garak is shaking.

Dukat moves his lips to Garak’s cheek, and places another soft kiss there.

He kisses Garak’s neck,

his collarbone,

his chula,

his belly,

his chuva.

Dukat reaches Garak’s purse, and all he can smell is Garak. All Dukat sees is the glistening scales of Garak’s groin all flushed blue and black blush. He has thought of this, before, unsure if he was allowed.

He parts his lips; the pink walls meeting his blue tongue taste of some distant memory. He closes his eyes and tries to get it as far inside as he can, wiggles it to get his bearings, trying to find the right spot.

Garak is scrunching his face up, now. Does he deserve this? Is it a ploy? Is he being made fun of? He worries. This all well and good, but far too much so. Garak feels like crying. It’s hard to focus while Dukat does this, but he's frozen in, along with pleasure, some other feeling.

Dukat is pulling out, now, though, and pressing his lips to Garak’s chuva, sliding them down along Garak’s rim. He’s gasping for air and brushing Garak with his hot moist breath. He snuffles up below Garak’s bloom, and pops his tongue back inside, past the initial scales and muscles leading into Garak’s purse, fluids coating his face.

He opens his jaw, spreads his lips, moving around to stimulate the ridges on the outside of Garak. He twists his head to reach deeper with his tongue, on Garak’s inside. Finding that soft spot a few inches in towards Garak’s belly, where his quivering partner’s tender phallus’ base and sensitive vaginal wall intersect.

Unexpectedly, Garak stills and tenses, for the second time this night, and a rain of sweet jerky twitches follow, gradually decreasing in intensity.

Dukat feels the little twitches around him as he amps up his pace and force, Garak’s thighs trembling and jiggling around his face. Dukat hums and pushes his face between Garak’s hips as they give little twitches forwards. Garak is far too over sensitive for this, but Dukat can’t seem to shake the taste-scent of Garak off enough to think quite rationally enough to know to stop.

Garak writhes and lets out a choked noise as his hips can’t seem to decide whether they want further away from the sensation, or closer.

Garak’s chest heaves above Dukat

Dukat lifts away from Garak’s purse and he immediately misses it, the air striking the fluids covering his face and chilling them. Dukat lays his head on Garak’s belly, looking up at him.

“Feeling up to another round?”

Garak swallows.

“Uh…”

He meets Dukat’s eyes, but it’s too much; he looks away.

“…Could I just suck you off?”

Dukat snorts.

“Not a chance… I will, however, give you time to recover.”

“O-okay. Fair enough... I suppose.” His voice is shaking.

“Mmm.”

Dukat’s chest resumes it’s contented rumbling as he moves up to lie beside Garak. He tucks his head into the crook of Garak’s neck and wraps one arm firmly around Garak’s waist, the other coming up to act as a pillow for Garak’s head.

Garak is still nervous about all this, doubting his reality, but for now a good dream is better than a waking nightmare. He wriggles back into Dukat’s embrace, and inhales Dukat’s scent.

Garak still feels a bit like crying. He's not sure whether having all this be true will make that worse, or better.

“So… we’re really giving this a go, huh?”

“I love a good, heated, conversation as much as the next man, but save your energy...-

****

-you’ll need it.”

**Author's Note:**

> ajhfhfjkalsk
> 
> Hope y'all're happy; you survived till the end. Thank. :bow: :pray:


End file.
